Dear Friends,

Except for the change of date, the following article, dated May 9, 2003, could have been written this morning. The news is that it is not news; we are still mired down in Iraq; our mothers continue to weep for their children, seeking comfort and strength in Jeremiah's Balm of Gilead.

"Is there no balm in Gilead anymore? Is no doctor there?" (8:22, 23)

Is there no doctor who can bind up our wounds and lead us out of this desert of our own making?

Lead us into the land of milk and honey, where we will measure our nation's wealth by something other than Wall Street's numbers or retail reports? In September, will we still be crying out:

" Harvest is over, summer at an end, and we have not been saved!"

Not by guns of war will we be saved, but through hearts dedicated to peace, to love, and forgiveness, coupled with the courage to walk upon untrod paths, trusting in grace, and the companionship of one another.

Mother's Day — in the hope of spring (May 9, 2003)

For see, winter is past.
The rains are over and gone,
The flowers appear on the earth
The season of glad songs has come.

(Song of Songs: 2:10-11)

If we step back to survey our world, with thousands and thousands of our youngest and bravest on foreign soil, the guns of war not yet silenced, the economy’s downward spiral sending men and women to unemployment lines, with mortgage lenders placing homes on the auction block, and violence running rampant on our streets, we can be forgiven a sense of foreboding about the future, for wondering if our winter is truly past.

But God tells us, even so, to be still, to allow our eyes and hearts to drink in the beauty surrounding us, that we might not become bent-over people, unable to stand tall with courage and hope and trust.

Months ago, who would have thought that our frozen earth could yield wild roses on road sides and the fragrance of lilacs in the air, or that, once again, mothers and fathers would be bringing infants and young children into the public square, proud and delighted to be seen and smiled upon, as they spread new hope to every passerby?

From the Atlantic to the Pacific, let us hope, priests have been mulling over their homilies for Mother’s Day. Some may even have been listening to women. One priest, in a moment of frustration, complained to me, “I don’t know what to say to women!” Yet, he was determined to offer whatever Balm of GiIead he could find in his spiritual medicine cabinet to heal the wounds inflicted upon women by the institutional Church.

Thomas Merton once said, “With God, a little sincerity goes a long way.”

With women, too. “Don’t worry, “ they would tell the priest. “Try, Father. Stutter if you must. Stuttering shows effort. We’ll settle for effort. It beats indifference every time.”

Some priests will refuse to mention Mother’s Day with as much as a word of congratulations to the women, so concerned are they about obeying the letter of the law in the Ordo, which states that Mother’s Day is a secular holiday and should receive no notice in the liturgy of the day.

How short-sighted of the learned liturgists, for when the liturgy ceases to be relevant to the lives of the people, the people realize they are irrelevant to the liturgy, and will seek other pastures.

In quiet moments, those letter-of-the-law liturgists, with more degrees than one can count, would do well to acknowledge that it has frequently been women who have mothered and shepherded the Church of Christ. Not up on the hills, where everyone could see and applaud and reward them with gold and silver and the trappings of power, but down in the valley, out of sight, among the poor and ignorant and powerless, where Christ is ever to be found.

No matter, children are wiser than some who make a profession of being wise. For weeks, the younger set have been busy planning mini-vacations for their moms. Breakfast in bed. The toast may be over-done and seeds may float in the orange juice, but not to worry. The dandelions in a dime-store vase will speak of love and trust in a bedroom liturgy as holy as one might attend in a Gothic cathedral.

The priestly laity in the pews will fill their liturgy with loving memories, prayers, and heart-felt joy, mingled with tears of gratitude for those who gave them life and guided their steps along the way. Children’s excitement over their mothers’ special day will bubble over the pews, up the aisles, into the sanctuary, and come to rest upon the altar, the symbol of the sacrifice of Christ and his followers to the end of time.

Happy Mother’s Day, and special blessings to all women, who spend their lives, in one way or another, mothering the children of our world.

Home

Archives